


Ribs

by cowboykylux



Series: If The Creek Don't Rise [47]
Category: Logan Lucky (2017)
Genre: Clyde Logan is a Sweetheart, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Innuendo, Married Couple, Married Life, Silly, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:14:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25957339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboykylux/pseuds/cowboykylux
Summary: Working late at the bar has it's perks -- namely that Clyde brings you home hot and fresh food after a long shift, even going so far as to wake you up to give it to you.
Relationships: Clyde Logan/Reader, Clyde Logan/You
Series: If The Creek Don't Rise [47]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/927228
Kudos: 14





	Ribs

You were having the nicest dreams. Dreams of warm summer days to help get through the chill of winter, dreams of daffodils and runnin’ through sprinklers in the front lawn, dreams of going to the swimming pool at your friends house and having a bbq party.

In fact, bbq was becoming more and more real, in your dream. Soon it wasn’t just the sight of Clyde standing at the grill with his apron and tongs, it was the smell of hot and fresh ribs, wafting right into your nose. The smell was getting so strong in fact, that you could feel your mouth start to water, a feeling which only grew and grew as someone was gently nudging you awake.

“Darlin’?” Your husband, Clyde, is cautiously and gently rubbing your shoulder, “You up?”

Damn, you think, those ribs smelled so good and you wonder if your cravings are really just getting better of you, as you shift around in bed to turn towards your husband with your eyes still shut.

“No.” You grumble, not a fan of being conscious when it was still so clearly dark outside.

“C’mon wake up for jus’like, two minutes, I’ve got somethin’ for ya.” Clyde says, and that has you crackin’ an eye open.

“Clyde honey it’s three o’clock in the mornin’.” You complain as you look at the little glowing alarm clock that proudly boasts it ain’t even anywhere near dawn yet.

Clyde is insistent though, and he picks up a plate that he set on the night-stand, and you really feel like you’re in a dream still because how bizarre is it that –

“I brought you a rib babe.” He says with a pleased smile in his voice as he turns on the little bed-side lamp, illuminating his body.

“A rib?” You ask, so confused, but Clyde is just sitting there right next to you on the mattress, in his band t-shirt and boxers, with a single rib on a plate that he had brought in from the kitchen.

“Yup.” He pushes the plate closer towards you, and as if this is a completely normal thing to be doing at three o’clock in the morning, he pulls up a second plate from the night-stand and tears off a big chunk with his perfectly crooked teeth, chewing around an, “I know you like ‘em.”

And he’s right, because fuck you _do,_ and your dream makes sense now and your stomach is betrayin’ you and even though it’s so damn late – or early? – you take a bite of the meat and you cannot contain the pleased moan from just how perfect that bbq sauce on it is. 

“Oh damn – honey is this what you’ve been up to this whole time?” You asked, but Clyde shakes his head, tries to catch a bit of sauce that’s collected in the corner of his mouth and fails, eventually needing you to swipe it away with your thumb.

He catches your thumb between his teeth and licks it clean, humming to himself happily about how good they came out, all too pleased with himself.

“Nah, the slow-cooker’s just been goin’ all day.” He says, and you give him a look because you didn’t even know he _had_ a slow-cooker, but he waves it off, “But they’re done, what d’ya think of em?”

You shake your head fondly at him, and sit up properly, resting your back against the headboard so you can bite off another mouthful, immediately getting yourself sticky in the process.

“They’re real good, but we’re going to need napkins.” You say, reaching over and grabbing the box of tissues that usually is reserved for wiping up his come when it gets a little too close to your eye, and handing him some with your only clean fingers.

“You really like em?” He asks, setting his plate down (because of course he scarfed that whole damn thing down) and licking up the sticky sweet sauce from his fingers.

“I do honey, they’re damn good – Clyde Logan Logan what do you think you’re doing?” You say, laughing and shuffling away from him when those fingers creep their way up your thigh under the covers.

“Uhhhhh,” He blushes bright red, smiles a little before moving to roll on top of you and making you laugh some more, shout and squeal as he pulls you down flat onto the mattress, the plate getting pushed to the other end of the bed for now, as he drifts his hand closer and closer to the spot between your legs.

“You better go wash your hands before thinkin’ about putting those fingers anywhere near me like that – honey I’m sticky!” You complain playfully, but he only quirks a grin and says,

“Oh you don’t even know how sticky you’re gonna get darlin’, just you wait.”


End file.
